


Elegance and Eloquence

by dreamlittleyo



Series: Surrender 'Verse [7]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Canon Era, Established Relationship, Light Bondage, M/M, Marking, Orgasm Denial, Pain Kink, Porn with Feelings, Rank Disparity, Romance, dom/sub themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 22:47:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15568041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamlittleyo/pseuds/dreamlittleyo
Summary: In which Washington must exercise restraint, but there are plenty of ways to wreck his boy.





	Elegance and Eloquence

Washington has already had Alexander once tonight.

His mouth only—they are in the middle of nowhere and will need to ride out with all speed in the morning—so anything more strenuous would be… ill-advised. No matter how staunchly Hamilton would argue otherwise given half an opportunity. No matter how desperately Washington may ache to use him more thoroughly.

Washington is, on occasion, capable of exercising better sense even where Alexander Hamilton is concerned.

His self-control is not perfect. If it were, he would not have initiated anything tonight at all. But a close brush with the enemy and a daring escape have got his blood up and his possessive urges riled. For all Washington's lauded self-control, he has spent it all in resisting the urge to strip his boy naked and pin him to the floor.

 _Of course_ he used Alexander's mouth. More brutally even than usual, a ramming rhythm that choked away any hope of air and made dark eyes roll back, putting his boy repeatedly on the verge of passing out. Hamilton needs to be able to sit a horse tomorrow; he does not need to be capable of speech.

Washington has, of necessity, gagged Alexander with a clean handkerchief now that they've moved on to other things. The walls of the tavern are thick, but not so thick the other patrons won't ask uncomfortable questions if Alexander is not quiet. They drew no attention when they requested the barkeep's only remaining bed—no one in this town suspects them for soldiers _or_ sodomites—but that won't protect them from discovery if they are careless.

The bed is less comfortable than his own, but Washington barely notices this fact. For one thing, the war hasn't been kind, and he has spent a great many nights with no bed at all. For another, how can he begrudge _any_ discomfort—minor and irrelevant—when Alexander is so warm and pliant in his arms.

Well. Not pliant, exactly. Not anymore. Washington has been tormenting his boy for well over an hour, touching and pleasuring him and then denying the culmination of his efforts. He has stopped just before the finish, almost a dozen times now, and the result is Alexander at his most frantic-anguished-beautiful. Helpless in his general's arms.

Washington lies on his side with Alexander spooned tightly to his chest. Allowing him just enough leverage to _try_ and fuck forward into the circle of Washington's grip—to chase the release already denied him so many times—but not enough to finish the job when Washington is determined to prolong the torture. Hamilton's wrists are bound at the small of his back by a length of fabric; a gentle but inescapable restraint. His hands, trapped between the crushing heat of their bodies, brush against Washington's stomach with every movement.

And of course, gagged as he is, Hamilton cannot even beg.

Washington presses a smile to the rabbit-fast pulse point beneath Hamilton's jaw.

They're both naked: a state of affairs that would be chilly and uncomfortable if their entertainments were not so warming. Icy wind shrieks against the tavern, cutting through the drafty walls and carrying the bite of winter.

Washington doesn't mind. He's never been especially susceptible to the cold, and he is even less so when his bed is occupied by Alexander's restless heat. He doubts very much that Hamilton is paying the chill any mind in _his_ current condition, either.

"You make this too easy, Alexander," he murmurs. Pauses to catch Hamilton's earlobe in a stinging bite. The arm trapped beneath Hamilton's body curls up across the boy's narrow chest, a restraining band to hold him hard against Washington's front. "You are _too obvious_. You hide nothing. How can I fail to notice when you're close?" And of course, the logical followup to that question: how can he resist the desire to stop Hamilton short, when that knowledge is so simple to obtain?

Hamilton moans a protest, muffled by the gag, and it is a gloriously frustrated sound. An echo of fractured need and accusation. _Demanding_ , for all that there are no discernible words. Harsh and yearning.

"Are you angry with me?" Washington teases. He strokes more firmly, savoring the silk-smooth weight of the cock in his hand.

Hamilton's hips buck forward, ineffectual, and he breathes a wild sound somewhere between a growl and a cry.

"Disrespect will _not_ earn you the satisfaction you crave." Washington strokes faster, and _oh_ the sounds his boy makes as the precipice looms closer. Panting breaths, shaky and sharp, and a litany of low whimpers that slip higher with mounting pleasure. There is a tone of outright pleading in the louder sounds. A beautiful refrain of helplessness that is beginning to prick Washington's own spent arousal with renewed interest.

The cadence of Hamilton's breathing shifts when the edge creeps too close. This too is a lovely sound, and Washington knows it well. He stills with his grip at the base of Hamilton's cock; not _just_ falling motionless, but also tightening the circle of his fingers. A touch that would surely be painful even if he weren't interrupting the threatening avalanche of a long-denied orgasm.

Alexander's entire body jerks in his hold, chasing the culmination Washington refuses to allow him. A sob cuts through the quiet room—too loud despite the gag and Alexander's abused throat—their secret protected only by the deafening howl of the wind.

" _Hush_ ," Washington growls, shifting the arm across Alexander's chest so that he can cover his mouth with one broad palm. Improbable, that Hamilton should be able to achieve so loud a voice when his throat is so raw, but Washington has long since learned not to underestimate his chief of staff.

Hamilton breathes a quieter hum, but the cadence is still shattered and fraught. Tearful. Washington knows his boy is in an agony of overstimulation—pleasure prolonged too long—dipping more and more steadily into the realms of discomfort, and perhaps even pain. It's an unorthodox manner of torture. But satisfying—enthralling—now that they are here.

" _No_ ," Washington hisses. His grip on Hamilton's cock tightens even further, inflicting deliberate pain and earning a sharp inhale. He enjoys answering as though Hamilton has spoken aloud—as though the breathless noises are discernible words—as though Hamilton is pleading eloquently rather than gasping muffled and muted sobs. "You suffer at my pleasure, Alexander. And you will not come _until and unless_ I allow it. Do you understand me?"

Even through the fabric gag and the weight of Washington's palm, Hamilton's answering sob is audible agony.

Washington maintains the vice-like hold at the base of Alexander's cock, until he is entirely certain the boy will not spend. He cannot indulge in proper punishment tonight—not if they are to ride out and join the rest of the army tomorrow—which means there is no appeal to his usual tactic of setting Alexander up to fail.

He keeps his other hand over Hamilton's mouth as he leans down to catch soft skin between his teeth—bites down _hard_ at the junction of neck and shoulder—capturing flesh almost fiercely enough to break the skin. His blood heats at the way Alexander squirms in his hold, movements rubbing against Washington's increasingly rigid arousal. He thrills at the low, ragged moan that reaches his ears, and the give of soft skin between his teeth. His efforts will leave a vicious bruise behind. A perfect imprint for Hamilton to prod beneath his uniform tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that.

A steady ache, for which his boy will be appropriately grateful.

He lets go of Hamilton's cock without releasing the relentless bite. Slips his wandering touch higher to scrape blunt fingernails over stiff nipples—and then, when the shiver courses through his impossibly responsive boy—captures one between thumb and forefinger and pinches. Hard.

Hamilton cries out at the sensation, obviously startled even though he should certainly have anticipated the pinch. It's a weak cry, fucked out and rough, but it rasps louder when Washington pinches even tighter and gives a cruel twist.

Washington can feel Hamilton struggling against the fabric binding narrow wrists. There is no hint of the deliberate tapping rhythm that would mean Hamilton truly wants him to stop. Good. Washington knows his boy. He is nowhere near reaching Alexander's impressive limits.

He lets go—takes and twists the other nipple equally hard—just as he releases the line of Hamilton's shoulder with a kiss so gentle as to be contrary. His efforts earn a thrashing shudder and a grunt of pain. He is exhausting his boy. Steadily, deliberately. A beautiful exercise, a marathon of grudging endurance. He could keep this up for hours, and perhaps in the end Alexander would be too wrung out to orgasm at all.

Washington will not be so ruthless tonight. Hamilton has more than earned his satisfaction. Much as the boy might enjoy the helpless agony of being strung along and thwarted for his general's pleasure, outright denial is a punishment for another time.

When he wraps his fist once more around Hamilton's cock—diamond-hard and slick from being worked so many times to the edge—the boy's muffled keen is almost enough to drag Washington over the precipice himself. Even though his own stamina should be more than up to this task. Even though he has already climaxed once tonight, and should have no difficulty at all restraining himself.

Washington keeps his own body in check and scrapes his fingernails along Hamilton's hyper-sensitive shaft. Garners a stuttering gasp and sharp flinch as Alexander tries to pull away. Washington grins wickedly and repeats the trick.

He savors the violent sob that wracks the body in his arms, as Alexander fails to avoid the painful touch.

"Does that hurt, my dear?" Washington's voice is deceptively gentle as he does it again, digging in harder this time and relishing the wounded noises that result. "Is it too much? Do you want me to stop?"

Hamilton's jerking nod jostles the hand that still covers his gagged mouth. But he still does not signal, and Washington's chest swells with overwhelmed affection.

He releases Hamilton's cock, but only to slip lower. Between the boy's thighs, to capture his stones in one enormous hand and give an uncomfortably tight squeeze. He uses only a fragment of his strength, but still hurts his boy plenty, judging by the energy in Hamilton's attempt to wriggle free—not to mention the wordless outburst that sounds unmistakably like a plea for Washington to stop.

Washington's smile threatens to spread wider, and he hides the expression with a kiss to the fresh bruise at the base of Hamilton's throat. He grips more firmly, enjoying the way Hamilton squirms against him. The wrists trapped between them jerk in their bonds, straining for freedom Alexander must know he cannot achieve.

Washington squeezes harder—a sudden vicious clenching of his fist around his delicate handful—and Hamilton _screams_. Still muffled. Still drowned out by the wailing of the elements outside the building, though perhaps not quiet enough for true discretion. In this moment Washington doesn't care like he should. He keeps his brutal hold, even as his boy begins to shudder and hyperventilate. Fresh tears wet the skin of the hand still covering Hamilton's mouth. Washington gives an additional _twist_ of the grip between Alexander's thighs, and those tears fall harder.

"My beautiful boy," Washington murmurs warmly. He picks a different spot higher on Hamilton's smooth neck—high enough the cravat might not completely hide the mark tomorrow—and bestows another bruising bite.

He will never tire of the knowledge that all these things are his for the taking. That all the ways in which he craves Alexander—all the affection and possessiveness and hunger—are matched and returned. An unlikely perfection of jagged edges fitting flawlessly together, whether he and Hamilton are working or fucking or merely existing in close proximity. His boy was made for him; and Washington was made just as surely for Alexander. An improbable complement of needs that should not exist.

But oh, Washington is grateful that it does.

He releases Alexander's feverish stones and takes hold once more of his cock. Still stiff. No surprise that it takes almost nothing to carry his boy to the same frantic edge as before. Again he prevents Hamilton's orgasm, and again Hamilton shatters into wounded, shaking cries.

Three more times he does the same, until Hamilton is a wild, incoherent whirlwind in Washington's arms. Powerless to escape. Sobbing now with every unsteady breath. Washington's beautiful boy, utterly ruined and still caught _exactly_ where Washington desires him.

"Don't you _dare_ ," he growls as he forces Alexander down from the edge one final time. He doubts the words or the admonition are even comprehended, but that hardly matters. It's not why he voiced the rebuke.

He is fully aware of the effect his voice has on Alexander, especially in moments like this.

Releasing Hamilton's cock, he slips his hand between their tightly pressed bodies. He guides his own prick—achingly hard now—to Alexander's trembling hands. His boy is so addled that he doesn't immediately intuit his general's purpose, and Washington has to guide by touch. Putting Hamilton where he wants him, curling both the boy's hands around Washington's insistent arousal.

He knows the moment Hamilton catches on, from the tightening of the grip around him, and Washington moans at the sweet sensation.

" _Yes_ ," he breathes. "Go on, my boy. Show me what you can do. Perhaps if you please me, I will allow you release." The implied threat—that he will leave his boy wanting if Alexander cannot manage this task—is a teasing fiction. Washington has no intention of denying his boy tonight.

But the words must break through Hamilton's aroused and battered awareness, because a moment later the circle of nimble fingers grips even tighter. Despite the awkward angle—the binding of fabric around his wrists impeding every movement—Hamilton works with unmeasured fervor. Arching deliberately against Washington's chest. Stroking as well as he can in the confined space. Artlessly maneuvering to work Washington's cock with exactly the right friction and speed and pressure.

The effort is deliciously clumsy, and Washington feels the precipice rising to meet him more quickly than he anticipated. Pleasure courses beneath his skin and twists hot in his belly.

His attention is shifting, fading, threatening to carry him away on a wave of sensation. But Washington holds out, stubborn and calculated. He grabs bruising hold of Hamilton's hip with one hand, curls his other arm across his boy's chest. All the while he is rutting forward into the heaven of his boy's touch. Fucking those hands with the same violent satisfaction he usually pounds into Alexander's eager body. Chasing the tide of desire and satisfaction higher and higher and higher.

He sinks his teeth into Alexander's shoulder when he comes. Another bite, another mark, another deep and lingering bruise. Washington stills, pressing his shout of ecstasy into abused skin.

He recovers fast, iron control quick as always to reassert itself. In the span of a heartbeat, he has manhandled Alexander into a different position: on his back at the center of the bed. Alexander's bound hands are trapped soundly beneath him, his face flushed red and eyes shining, mouth stuffed so full of fabric his lips cannot close.

"Now." Washington turns the word into a low purr and a challenge. "Let's see how well you can manage to keep quiet when circumstance requires it." He laces the comment with an air of authority, because this is no idle quandary. The necessity of silence—or as near as they can manage—is a tangible reality. Washington would not chance what he is about to do if he _didn't_ have faith in his boy, but the reminder cannot hurt.

He kneels over his boy a moment. Allowing the words to reach their mark. Waiting for the small but deliberate nod as Hamilton processes the subtle yet stern command.

The nod comes belatedly, and Washington moves farther down the bed. Nudges Hamilton's legs apart. Positions himself between them with a pause and a wicked smile.

Hamilton breathes a low whimper, a sound Washington recognizes as deliberate for all that it is still muffled by the cloth wedged firmly in Hamilton's mouth. Plea or manipulation, it hardly matters. Washington has already decided their course, and it is a path forward he knows his boy craves.

Finally, after an extra span of seconds simply looking his fill, he braces both hands at Alexander's hips and leans down to swallow his cock.

This is not a trick Washington used to be capable of, and he still does not manage it as handily as his talented and clever boy. But it's a skill he has worked to hone, because the truth—the honest and unspoken truth they share—is that he is every bit as desperate to please Alexander as his boy is to please him.

The sensation of a tight, hot throat working to accommodate his entire length… Washington ranks it among the greatest physical pleasures he has ever experienced. How could he _not_ wish to bestow the same upon Alexander?

He doesn't bother to tease now that they're here. He applies no taunting curl of fingertips—uses his hands only to hold Hamilton still—ducks his head ever lower to take the entire hard length into his throat.

His gag reflex protests, but he suppresses it smoothly enough. Savors the weight, the intimate flavor over his tongue. A moment passes and then he withdraws, only to bob low once more. Swallowing again. Taking his boy deep.

Alexander stifles an audible sob, breathing harder with every passing second. He manages surprisingly well—better even than Washington hoped—choking back moans and cries and more with admirable stubbornness. Even in these barely restrained sounds there is a beautiful amalgam of pleasure and distress.

When he hears the telltale hitching breath—the shift in tone that alerts him that Hamilton is close—Washington eases back just far enough to let the head of Hamilton's cock rest on his tongue. His lips circle the shaft tightly as he traces a soothing motion along Hamilton's hip with his thumb. The gesture is wordless permission, and it tips his boy immediately over the edge. 

Alexander breathes a low, graveled, utterly filthy moan as orgasm takes him. Washington swallows the slick release, savoring this moment just as surely as every other intimacy they've shared tonight. He closes his eyes, memorizing every sound-breath-sensation. A perfect instant. Impossible, but miraculously real.

He takes ample time to calm his boy after.

Never mind that the hour is late, or that they will need to depart early in the morning. There is time just the same—after tossing the sodden gag aside and removing the bindings from Alexander's wrists—to simply hold each other in the stillness of the room. Their bed is warm, and it's a relief to settle beneath heavy blankets as the heat of exertion fades and the chill of the air becomes more difficult to ignore.

Washington is content to lie on his side with Hamilton pressed solidly against him. The quiet, nuzzling satisfaction is just as eloquent as any of his boy's voluminous diatribes. Alexander's breath gusts hot over Washington's collarbone, steadying and slowing by degrees, and the arm he tucks over Washington's waist is a welcome anchor. Grounding. Keeping him close, not that Washington has any intention of removing himself from this bed.

He traces soothing patterns into Alexander's skin. Gentling his exhausted boy, rubbing his back with calloused hands. Wondering if perhaps Alexander is already asleep.

"Thank you, sir." Not asleep after all. Hamilton's voice is barely above a whisper, the graveled rasp a testament to their activities.

Washington smiles and presses a slow kiss to Alexander's temple. "You're welcome, my dear boy."

**Author's Note:**

> To those who have asked about this 'verse recently: no, this is not the fic I've been talking about. There's another (significantly longer) story I'm in the process of writing, still nowhere near complete. In the meantime, this little smutlet came out of nowhere and grabbed me by the throat, and I decided to run with it. 
> 
> Thank you for all the kind words and support! I promise this series isn't finished, no matter how many tangents my muse might drag me on in the short term.


End file.
